


Speaks in Volumes

by Fweeble



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Ensemble Cast, F/F, M/M, Shuu puppy, Unbeta'd, artist Kaneki, musician and composer Hide, mute Hide, short installments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fweeble/pseuds/Fweeble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hide speaks in volumes. Kaneki hears it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've done some research on whether or not "mute" is the correct term I'm looking for. Some of the other descriptors I've found, "nonverbal" or "speech impaired," seem to refer to specific types of muteness ("nonverbal" to selective mutism, which is psychological, and "speech impaired" seems to refer to people who have the physical capabilities to speak but are unable to, possibly due to deafness or autism). 
> 
> Hide in this fic, however, is part of that infinitesimally small percentage of the population who were born with their vocal cords under-developed and therefore is "physiologically mute." I cannot seem to find a more fitting term beyond "mute" but if someone knows the correct term for this (assuming "mute" is offensive, which I can't find conclusive evidence for when it comes to those who are "physiologically mute") please let me know. 
> 
> Thank you. c:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will be written as a series of inter-connected drabbles. However, I am not writing each installment chronologically. Because of this, relevant information (such as age) will be shown in the beginning.

**(Kaneki: 27; Hide: 26; 2 years and 7 months after their first meeting)**

 

\-- 

  
Hide speaks in volumes.  
  
The flutter of his hands are poetry, the tilt of his head, song, his smile entire novels. He never stops talking, he chatters with his fingertips, the crinkle of his eyes. He talks and Kaneki listens.  
  
He hears _‘I’m tired’_ in the way the blond leans in, the way he shares the burden of his weight with Kaneki, the kiss of their shoulders. He hears the laughter when Hide’s eyes widen, just the slightest, when he is delighted, that nanosecond before that crinkle Kaneki adores forms. He in turn is delighted by the constant affirmation, the _'I love you’_ he sees whenever Hide’s eyes rests on him.  
  
Hide speaks volumes with his hands as they explore the slick planes of Kaneki’s body, hesitant and unsure. Warm. He sings epics as his nails score Kaneki’s skin, unbidden and desperate, his mouth hot and wet against Kaneki’s neck.  
  
Kaneki falls deeper in love with every word Hide says, revels in it as he descends further.  
  
“I love you,” he murmurs into golden skin and smiles when the blond drags a finger across his back.  
  
_'Me too. I’m great,’_ the other man writes, sleepy smile soft on his face.  
  
And Kaneki hears the volumes spoken in that smile too.  
  
_I love you too._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my 500 Followers celebration. 
> 
> Prompt: Touch
> 
> Please feel free to drop some [prompts](http://fweeble.tumblr.com/post/135602993733/apparently-ive-hit-500-followers-so-heres-the) in my askbox!

**(Kaneki: 24, pre-operation; Hide: 24, busks in the park; Shuu: 9 weeks, teething; 2 weeks after first meeting)**

  
It’s something he has come to realize since the darkness had begun to set in.  
  
There is more to a person than the lilt of their voice, the curve of their smile, the glitter of their eyes.  
  
As he takes tentative steps in the new, terrifying world he finds himself thrust into, blind and overwhelmed, he learns to differentiate the people around him through another sense. He recognizes Touka through her steady hand, the way she leaves him be and allows him his dignity until he veers dangerously towards the sharp edge of a corner or into the busy Tokyo traffic, and Yoriko through the gentle warmth of her hand resting against the crook of his arm as she allows him the pretense as the gentleman guiding her through the sea of people and not an invalid in need of constant care. He recognizes Roma as the sudden touches against his back, his shoulders, his upper arms; she is the jolt of fear and uncertainty that plagues him when he is unsure and unawares, outside the safety of his sanctum. Banjou is the occasional bump of shoulders as he crowds too close, too worried to be too far, too unsure to offer help without a written invitation.  
  
Then there is Shuu, who is starting to teethe, finally shedding his milk teeth and restless beyond reason. When he isn’t chewing his way through Kaneki’s walls and molding, he’s brushing against Kaneki, nibbling lightly at his fingers, moist nose snuffling against his hands demanding petting and belly rubs.   
  
He thinks he’s starting to get used to it, navigating the world through touch instead of sight, but then the stranger in the park holds Kaneki’s hands against his face and he can feel the smile, trace the crease of what has to be a dimple, the lightly chapped surface of foreign lips and–  
  
The stranger’s touches are always warm, calm. And while Kaneki cannot see, he does not start when the stranger’s hand touches his, when the stranger traces words, phrases, pictures, into the palm of his hand. His heart does not screech to a halt when they touch, two strangers in a park, when even Touka’s familiar presence does not ease the anxiety that has plagued him since his eyes began to fail him.   
  
He never speaks when they happen upon each other in the park and while Kaneki knows the man smells like sandalwood and a hint of mint, he finds he knows little of the other man, nothing of substance. Kaneki knows that he teaches a young boy how to play the harmonica in the afternoon, that he also apparently plays the trumpet and some string instrument (violin? Viola? Kaneki has never been too interested in music) for a handful of coins during the early hours of the day when Kaneki takes Shuu out for his morning stroll. He knows that the man had traced the characters _‘Nagachika Hideyoshi’_ into his hand during a warm, breezy morning after a rather rousing session of busking that ended with enthusiastic clapping.   
  
Kaneki thinks he has spilled his entire life story during their short moments together in the park, has allowed himself to become unguarded and vulnerable before a stranger who he does not know, who has never spoken a word, but whose hand had been so warm, kind and gentle, that day when he cried, alone in the park, Shuu worried and whining, nosing against his legs. He had quietly sat beside him, a presence that assured him he was not alone. When he was tired and wrung out, dry to the bone with no more tears to shed, just bitterness and anger at the lot life had given him, as curses and poison spilled from his lips, the man had gently laid his hand against Kaneki’s.  
  
And that alone saved him.  
  
It wasn’t Touka’s _‘I understand,’_ or Yoriko’s _‘It’ll be okay,’_ or Banjou’s _‘Don’t worry.’_  
  
It was: _‘Cry. I’ll be here.’_  
  
Because he had needed to be angry, needed to be anguished and tragic, to wallow in self-pity, to rage against the world, the universe that had taken away the only thing he ever had.  
  
What was he if he could not hold a brush in his hand? If he couldn’t recreate a sunrise that had made a sleepless night worth enduring, if he couldn’t while away another lazy afternoon in a café, splashing watercolors onto old sketches with coffee that had long since gone cold?  
  
What was he without his sight?  
  
He could create, thrive, without his hands, his feet –he has heard of people continuing to draw with pencils clenched between their teeth, with brushes between their toes, but without his eyes…  
  
He was nothing.   
  
Kaneki thinks about this now as his fingers map out the planes of a smiling face, how this person had let him unburden himself of the dark, monstrous thing that had hatched the day the light started to fade from his world. He feels puffs of the other man’s breath as he curls fingers around the soft cartilage of an ear and realizes –it’s laughter.  
  
It’s a tiny thing. First a spark, then realization dawns, illuminating.  
  
He has waited, days and days, for the other man to speak, to share himself as well.  
  
But he had been, with every soft touch, the line of warmth against him as they sit together on a park bench, the warmth of the sun against their skin.   
  
Kaneki realizes touch is not enough. He does not want to see the world through his hands, does not want to learn this person through the pads of his fingers, does not want to know this smile in his mind’s eye only.   
  
“So I’ve been thinking about the operation,” he says carefully, trying to gauge the other man’s reactions with clumsy hands, clumsy fingers.  
  
Instead, the man leans forward and bumps their foreheads together.  
  
  
  
 _‘I’m here.’_  
   
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**\---(Kaneki: 24, 2 months post-operation; Hide: 24, occasionally busks in the park; Shuu: 5 months and 3 weeks old, pampered prince; 3 months and 2 weeks after first meeting)---**  
  
  
  
Kaneki isn’t quite sure what he expected when he introduced Hide to Touka and Yoriko (and, by extension, Ayato, who has invited himself over because he can). They’ve known of Hide for months now, have listened to Kaneki chatter on about the “the man from the park” often enough that Touka has started to smile sweetly and encourage him with the words “Yes, do tell us more about how _lovely_ this mystery man is.”

It has never occurred to him that he has never once actually named Hide during those conversations until now.

Ayato, who is the leader of his own tiny rock band (it literally comprises of Ayato and two other people, one of whom plays the _triangle_ ), is utterly awestruck and beside himself with ill-contained glee. He immediately produces a pen from nowhere, confirming Kaneki’s suspicions that he has supernatural powers and is possibly the devil (the man is wearing leather pants that can only have been _painted_ on, a shirt that is so tight Kaneki is certain nipples would be showing if it was not for the leather vest that Kaneki suspects is a size too small), and begs for an autograph.

The girls, in contrast, are slightly more subdued.

“Oh, _oh_ , you composed that really lovely song from that one movie! The one that won all those awards,” Yoriko says, clapping her hands together in excitement. “I have the CD! Oh, where did I put it, Touka?”

Touka helpfully fishes the CD from the shelf and hands it over to her fiancee. She unhelpfully adds, “And you didn’t mention that the mystery man in the park is Nagachika Hideyoshi because…?” Because she’s an asshole like that.

More proof that she is related to Ayato and an equally plausible candidate –maybe she’s the devil.

She knows he knows nothing about music. He doesn’t even know the difference between swing and the blues and he’s begging her, eyes firmly on her as her grin widens even further, _not_ to bring this up. He _will_ train Shuu to chew on her headphones and pee in her shoes. He _will_.

“I didn’t know you were famous,” Kaneki says carefully, feeling surprised and more than a little out of his depth. And foolish.

“I will gut you in your _sleep_ ,” Ayato hisses venomously at Kaneki’s words. “I know where you live.”

Kaneki has never seen Ayato star-struck before. The man apparently goes from zero to bat-shit murderous in under a second when enamored.

“Your brother is threatening my health and general well-being,” he calls out to Touka as he edges surreptitiously away from Ayato and his marker pen. It seems statistically unlikely that Ayato can actually flay him alive with it but it has long been proven that anyone who underestimates a sufficiently motivated Kirishima is someone who will very soon be in very serious pain. And, in this particular case, possibly dead. Or staining Yoriko’s lovely carpet. Which is very _rude_ , Kaneki has been told. People don’t tend to invite people back into their homes after one has unceremoniously bled all over their lovely beige carpet.

They just don’t.

The music starts playing and Ayato is staring at his shirt as if it’s the Holy Grail and Nagachika takes his seat next to Kaneki on the couch and smiles beatifically.

As if Kaneki’s life hasn’t just been threatened. Because of him.

“Why didn’t you mention you were famous?” he whispers, terrified that Ayato will overhear and make good on his word.

Nagachika continues to smile. He tilts his head and shrugs, hands fluttering.  


_'I’m famous?'_  
  
  
Kaneki narrows his eyes.

“If Ayato comes for me in the middle of the night, my dying message will be _your_ name.” He mimes dipping a finger in blood and writing on a wall.  


Nagachika’s shoulders shake as he covers his mouth, snorting softly.  
  
  
  


 


	4. Chapter 4

**\---(Kaneki: 25, 8 months post-eye operation; Hide: 24, composing OST for a video game, occasionally busks in the park; 9 months and 1 week after first meeting)---  
**  
  
  
There are many things Kaneki knows about Hide now that he never would’ve known if he hadn’t gone through with the operation.

Like how Hide’s thumbs can type up emails at the speed of light on his phone while Kaneki’s own slow, dumb ones can barely manage four words a minute on a good day.

Or how Hide can’t handle anything bitter and drowns his coffee in milk and sugar to cover the bitterness.

He wouldn’t know that, when busy or distracted by a project, Hide’s bad habits rear their ugly head and personal hygiene takes an extended holiday. His hair grows at an unseemly pace and, after two months locked in his apartment, is long enough to plait. There’s scruff on his jawline because he can’t be bothered to remember to shave every morning (or sleep every night). He forgets to drink water and fails to feed himself for days on end if left to his own devices.

He wouldn’t know that, Amon, Hide’s life-long friend, is genuinely worried that Hide will one day die of kidney failure.

He wouldn’t have, since learning all this, picked up a routine in which he takes turns with Amon to check in on Hide. “Hide Duty,” which they not-so-fondly dub it, includes feeding him actual food to prevent scurvy, watering him once every three days as if he’s a strange yellow cactus that the piano seat has managed to sprout, and clearing away the Jenga-like towers of instant noodle bowls before they can evolve into a disgusting maze.

While Hide is undoubtedly blessed by the gods of music and song, a genius among geniuses, Kaneki also learns that he is, no matter what he says, without a doubt color blind with an unhealthy attachment to neon colors, especially if they can induce migraines. If they clash, even better.

His wardrobe consists of t-shirts that are so worn out they have begun to tear at the seam only to have been sewn back together –rather well, actually, if it wasn’t for the fact that Hide didn’t even bother to match the color of the threads to the shirts – sweatshirts that are at least two sizes too big, a disturbing amount of track pants and sweatpants, khaki shorts, and the odd set of jeans. He is a walking fashion disaster and sometimes, particularly on the days directly after Hide emerges from his apartment after a project, squinting at the sun like a confused newborn bat suddenly subject to the sun, scruffy, hair haphazardly tied away from his face, Kaneki wonders if people give him money when he busks because they genuinely think he’s homeless.

Kaneki thinks about all these things now as Hinami adds delicate flower pins to the coiled, plaited bun she has delicately crafted just above the nape of Hide’s neck and Ayato carefully paints Hide’s nails sunflower yellow with the intensity of an axe-murderer.

Hide wiggles his toes. His toenails are already painted.

“What are you guys doing?” He asks, confused and slightly worried. Hinami looks beautiful in her white, flowing summer dress, and Ayato is dressed to the nines in a snazzy vest and slacks. Hide smiles, still scruffy, dressed in a neon pink hoodie three sizes too big, sleeves rolled above his elbows and drooping, and his favorite khaki pants. No matter how much Yoriko and Touka adore him, Hide will be murdered if he doesn’t show up at their wedding looking presentable.

“Hide didn’t have time to go to the barber’s,” Hinami says cheerfully as she places the last pin and softly pats Hide’s shoulder to let him know her masterpiece is finished. “And Banjou’s barely going to make the wedding as it is since he had to pick up an extra shift since someone called in sick this morning. We could attempt to cut his hair on our own but we also risk mangling his hair beyond salvation. So we decided to work with what we have.”

“Anything worth doing is worth doing with maximum effort,” Ayato deadpans as he starts on Hide’s other hand. “You’re going to be the prettiest princess of them all,” he promises Hide.

Hide’s grin widens. His eyes crinkle.

Kaneki stares.

“Relax,” Ayato says when he notices. “His suit is in the back and I’ll make sure he shaves off that 5 o’clock shadow before he changes.”

That’s a relief. He spent weeks looking for the perfect tuxedo. His wallet will be crying for weeks.

He wants to say that that’s great, that it’d be terrible if Touka and Yoriko started off their marriage with a murder at the temple. He’s unable to say anything. He rubs a hand over his face. Manages to tear his eyes away from the way Hide has tilted his head in expectation.  


_'How do I look?'_

  
_Perfect_ , he doesn’t say as he makes a beeline for the kitchen and a glass of water.

Because even when he finds Hide passed out on the couch, with his hair tangled and three days’ worth of stubble, dried instant ramen stuck to the neon orange and green monstrosity of a shirt that Kaneki has silently promised himself hundreds of times that he will burn one day, it does something to his heart, makes it a little full and just a bit achey. It’s weird as much as it’s wonderful.

It’s probably love, or heartburn, Kaneki doesn’t know. It could even be some kind of allergy.

It doesn’t really matter what it is, he decides. It could be love, it could be the way Kaneki looks at the dimple of Hide’s smile and thinks ‘ _I remember tracing you with my fingertips_.’

It doesn’t really matter.

 

  
It’s just that seeing Hide is always a miracle, a small wonder wrapped in gaudy colors and ill-fitting clothes, the most beautiful person Kaneki has ever seen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banjou is totally a stylist in this AU (any man who takes the time to style his facial hair like that is destined to be one). Hide's parents are naturalized Japanese citizens and Hide and Amon met at church as children. (Although Hide isn't particularly religious, Amon is.)


End file.
